Faded Red Couch
by SilverSmile
Summary: You don't know where you are, but there are people all around you holding the hands of the elderly. You're alone. But then he's there. He's there and suddenly it doesn't matter where 'here' is, because he's there... From Rose's POV. Not all futures are memorable. R/Ten.


So, I had this dream and thought it fit fairly well with this fandom.

It's open to interpretation, so I'd be interested to hear what people thought.

Disclaimer - character's are not mine.

**Faded Red Couch**

You look up in confusion, unsure as to how you got here or even where, exactly, 'here' is. There are overstuffed, faded red arm chairs and couches filling the room, all of them lined up in twos and threes, one after the other in what feels like a never ending pattern. You look around, but you know no one at all, and none of them seem to even really see you. They're all too busy holding the hands of the elderly and showing off pictures in wallets and wrapped up in their quiet conversations.

Something about it just makes you feels so sad, as if there's something terrible about families spending time together. Which you know there's not, but you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes without your consent.

But then there's a gentle hand on your shoulder, the warmth leaching into your very bones and you look up and he's here. A smile stretches your lips as you finally find someone you know in the crowd. He's standing there smiling at you, just as gentle as the hand on your shoulder and a thousand times warmer.

He sits down next to you on the small faded red couch, hand sliding down to interlock with your own. He speaks to you softly, no doubt telling you all manner of fantastic things, but you don't hear a single one of them. It's just the familiar wash of the sound of his voice over you and you no longer feel quite so alone.

In just a blink of the eye everything looks different, it wasn't like this a mere moment ago, you're sure.

The light in the room is different, before the sun was welcomed into it and you could see the dust particles dancing in the sunbeams and it had been bright, so very bright. Now, however, the curtains have been pulled and the fading sunlight was clawing in through whatever cracks it could find, almost desperate to be seen.

There are less people in the place now, you still don't know where 'here' is, but he's still there, still holding your hand. So it's not all bad.

He appears to have begun apologising for something, you still can't quite make out his words to be sure, but it's the sad tone his voice has taken that clues you in. He's holding your hand impossibly tight, but you don't mind, as long as he stays with you everything will be ok.

Then he pulls you to his chest, one arm circling around you while the one holding your hand is pinned between your bodies. You can almost feel the vibrations in his chest as he continues to apologise. Then he pulls back so that he can look directly into your eyes and you feel warm as the ever-familiar colour of them greets you, it feels almost like coming home.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry that you grew old."

You don't understand. It doesn't make sense.

Rather than focus on his odd words, you smile at him, hoping to make him feel better and move on quickly from this bout of sadness he seems to have found himself in.

He looks as if he wants to cry.

You have a vague idea that he's suddenly gone and you can't help but feel sad again. A lady in a white uniform smiles gently at you as she takes your arm and helps you to your feet, you had no idea you were so exhausted until it came time to stand and you wonder fleetingly why.

You know she took you to what appeared to be a simple looking bedroom. You know the bedspread was perfectly made; all crisp and dull like most hotel bedrooms. You know there is a small arrangement of flowers in a vase sitting on a tiny table under the window of the room.

But you can't remember it.

It's like knowing all the rules to a complicated game, knowing how to flip the cards and roll the dice just right. But not recalling a single time you ever played it or even saw someone else play; as though the memory of it is there, right there, but there's a clear wall between you and it, stopping you from touching it.

You find yourself standing silently just outside the room where all the overstuffed and faded red couches are. The sunlight is shinning into the room again, the curtains framing it. You can see them through the open doorway. A few young women in white uniforms walk past occasionally, carrying empty vases, the flowers long gone, but you pay them as little mind as they pay you.

Another woman, this one a little older, comes out of the room with faded red couches and chairs, spies you just standing there and walks over to you. She smiles gently as asks you a question, though for the life of you, you have no idea what it was.

There is just suddenly this overpowering sadness inside of you. You feel as if you will never smile again. A sense of urgency takes hold of you and you look directly at the woman, reaching out and taking one of her hands in an old woman's hand; it's not yours so how can you move it? You feel so tired and sad, but something is telling you that if you don't tell her now, if you wait a second more, you won't remember to later. And you need to tell her this; you've got to. It's important.

Opening your mouth, your tongue feels heavy and your mouth full of cottonwool, but in your last few moments of clarity you manage to push the words out.

"Please, don't let me be sad."

* * *

You sit in a room full of faded red couches and chairs. The curtains are open and sunlight streams into the room as dust particles dance about in the air. It should be warm, it should feel alive, but you're so cold.

You're cold and you're alone.

But only for now. You're waiting for someone, you're sure you are.

Just give it a moment and you'll remember who.


End file.
